I Won't Let You Fall
by imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: "Butt grabbing," Oliver deadpans, anger flashing in his eyes as his voice drops even lower. "Mhmm." Oliver turns suddenly, already moving to stalk out of the glass doors when Felicity grabs at his arm and yanks him back towards her, a quiet "okay, should not have mentioned that" falling from her lips. (Or, Moira observes the interaction between a protective Oliver and Felicity).


**Hi friends, hope you enjoy this lighthearted one-shot, looking into Moira's observations of our favorite pair. Love you all!**

Moira sits rigidly in back of the limo, one leg folded over the other in an almost regal posture. She glances around the space, taking in Thea texting rapidly on her phone to her left and her son sat just as rigidly opposite of her. His executive assistant – Felicity Smoak, she remembers – sits just to his right, and practically vibrates with unused energy as silence continues to permeate the air. Moira watches the two of them, her expression sour from the fact that _she _is riding with them to the annual Queen Consolidated Conference. Sure, Felicity's his assistant, but she's also young and beautiful and blonde and Moira's had her fair share of experiences with girls like that.

Despite the constant bobbing of her knee, Felicity sits quietly, gloved hands hugging her tablet tightly to her chest. Her nose is just barely brushing the window as she stares in awe with wide and innocent eyes at the passing scenery outside the car.

Oliver has his head tilted back against the headrest, eyebrows pinched together in way that Moira has come to identify with a headache ever since Oliver was a little boy. His eyes are closed and his lips are drawn tightly together and Moira's just about to ask Oliver if he's okay when the car hits a bump.

Oliver's eyes fly open, and a flash of irritation quickly shadows his expression.

It's a small "woah" of disbelief that filters through the car that wipes the frown from his face. The sound is so subtle and soft that Moira barely catches it, but she does and she watches as Oliver turns to settle his eyes on Felicity. She's staring wholeheartedly out of the window now, eyes so bright they're nearly blinding, and her mouth pulls into a small smile as they cross over a bridge, the scenic beauty of the changing leaves on trees enough to pull a gasp out of everyone.

Everyone except Moira Queen, perhaps.

She's quickly hit with surprise, though, when she shifts her eyes back to her son, and her breath leaves her as she takes in his expression – takes in the slight upturn of his lips and the softness in his eyes as he watches Felicity stare out of the window. Felicity turns quickly, glancing at Oliver. Her head moves in a small tilt – an almost nonverbal _hey, look at this!, _and Moira watches as Oliver simply nods as if in agreement, his lips pulling even higher as he watches the blonde turn back to the window in amazement.

The Queen Matriarch doesn't miss the fact that Oliver doesn't once look out the window – doesn't once look away from _her. _And, for the first time in her life, Moira Queen is at a loss for words. She doesn't know how she feels about Felicity, not particularly. She doesn't hate her, but she doesn't necessarily like her either, and where Oliver had always had a thing for leggy models and sultry brunettes, Felicity is absolutely none of that.

Her eyes fall back towards the blonde, taking in the slight upturn of her nose and the way her eyes stare bright and curious out the window. Moira shakes her head slightly, glancing back at Thea who's also become entranced by the swirling leaves as they flash by.

She lets out a small huff, one that has Oliver turning to her and raising an amused eyebrow in question. She offers him a small smile, her heart ten times lighter because her boy, _her boy_ is healthy and alive and well.

There could be a million girls, she thinks. But none of them will ever be good enough for her Oliver.

Moira is one of the only ones still awake by the time they arrive at the conference center. Oliver has pulled his eyes shut about halfway through the trip, but the way his jaw remains tense – the way his fist clenches tight every time they make a sharp turn or hit a bump – lets Moira know that he's just as awake as she is. Thea has fallen asleep against her, and she moves to prod her awake before they fully reach the building.

It's the tender whisper that barely cuts through the air that has Moira's attention elsewhere in seconds, though. She glances up discreetly to see that Felicity has fallen asleep almost identical to Thea, except this time on a certain billionaire CEO's shoulder. Moira wants to role her eyes – of _course_ she fell asleep on Oliver's shoulder – but then he's turning his head so carefully, his nose just barely brushing her hair as a quiet _Felicity_ falls from his lips.

Felicity jumps slightly and Oliver avoids her head colliding with his chin in an almost well practiced maneuver. She looks around, confusion clouding her eyes, before she takes in the massive building looming before them. It's only when a body nearly crashes into the parked vehicle and Felicity flinches back into Oliver's chest that she truly takes in the mass swarming of paparazzi circling the car.

Thea groans, Oliver lets his head drop back in annoyance. Moira even lets out her own huff of frustration because it seems as if her family could never catch a break from the media. Her phone is already buzzing, letting her know that a detail for both herself and Thea will be at their car door in seconds, and in a way one could only describe as eerily and entirely too practiced, all three Queens paste a charming smile on their faces.

John Diggle swings the door open, his lips pulled in a tight grimace as they all jostle out. Oliver's out first, pulling Thea close to him before shifting her towards her bodyguard. Moira steps out as well, her own detail already moving towards her. Thea and Moira both wait for Oliver to move first. As CEO he'd be the one to take most of the heat, and he'd made it very clear the night before that he'd lead the way in the hope that they'd leave everyone else alone.

Moira watches as Mr. Diggle pushes through the strands of screaming paparazzi, Oliver and Felicity following close behind. Oliver's got a death grip on Felicity's arm, Felicity's eyes a mix of wonder and panic as she stares out into the crown.

They're about halfway to the door when a man breaks through the line, and a small yelp rings through the air.

Moira's eyes flash up, just in time to see Felicity reeling away from the man, a terrified look on her face. Oliver freezes, turning so quickly Felicity stumbles, and before the man can reach out again, Oliver's moving so fast Moira almost misses it.

Something inside Oliver snaps – she can see it in the way his eyes darken and his lips curl as a near growl rips through his frame. He takes the hand of the man, bending it backwards enough to make him yelp, for grabbing Felicity and pressing her into his chest. He practically drags her, keeping her head tucked firmly under his chin and away from the flashes, until they're through the doors and in the lobby of the building.

"Oliver?"

It's John Diggle's concerned voice that first breaks the silence in the lobby.

Thea and Moira stand just inside the doors, adjusting their clothes and taking in the building. Moira stands watching Oliver – watching as his chest heaves up and down in ragged breathes.

He _seething_, staring out angrily at the crowd, and Moira nearly takes a step back because she's never seen him so _enraged_ but then there's a small, muffled grumble and she realizes that Oliver still has Felicity pulled against him.

Felicity pushes away from Oliver, her glasses askew and hair in disarray.

"Feli -,"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," her voice is wobbly and the girl is visibly shaking, but she plants her feet and stares Oliver dead in the eye. She turns her head to smooth her dress and it's then the room sees the gash across her cheek.

A growl pulls from Oliver's chest.

"Felicity," He breathes out sharply, taking her face in his hands and tilting it to see the cut. Everything about Oliver is on edge – Moira can practically see him vibrating. But the way he holds the blonde woman's face, the way he gently strokes his thumb just beneath the cut makes Moira feel something.

_Warmth. _

Oliver crouches slightly to inspect Felicity's face, turning her face this way and that to look for more.

"Are you okay?" he grumbles, bristling when he notices that Felicity's glasses had been pushed so hard that her nose has a small cut. "_God,_ I'm going to kill them - ,"

"Oliver, I'm _fine,_" Felicity laughs, her posture of full comfort and composure and _trust_ as Oliver holds her face. "They just freaked me out with the butt grabbing and touchi - ,"

"_Butt grabbing?!"_

Oliver turns immediately, already moving to stalk out of the glass doors when Felicity grabs at his arm and yanks him back, a quiet _okay, should _not _have mentioned that _falling as a whisper from her lips.

"Wha - ," Oliver growls, eyes flashing.

"Oliver," Felicity starts, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm _fine._"

"You -,"

Felicity places both hands on his chest, her palms pressing next to his heart. Oliver grabs one of them, almost holding it in place as he stares down at her with a mixture of irritation and confusion.

"Take a breath, big guy," she says with a trace of a laugh. "You're being all growly and _grrrr_."

It's that – the deep growl that rumbles through Felicity's chest and falls from her pink stained lips in an attempt to diffuse the situation that pulls all the tension from Oliver's body.

"You're okay?" He holds his breath.

"I'm okay."

The hand that's holding Felicity's gives a small squeeze, and it's the look that the two share – the one that Moira has seen almost every time she's been with the two – that somehow pulls the tension away from her as well. She spares a glance at Thea, smiling slightly at her daughter's own head tilt of confusion – before glancing back at the pair.

Oliver's eyes are smiling, even if his mouth is not., and Moira feels it again – the warmth and relief spread through her body.

Sure, no girl will ever be good enough for her son, just like no boy will ever be good enough for her daughter. Moira's already accepted that.

But maybe this one – this blonde, babbling, IT Expert of a woman who calms her son with one touch, one word, one _look _– maybe she'll be enough.

**Let me know what you think! Thanks so much for reading!**


End file.
